


Pride, Planning and Parole Officers

by orphan_account



Series: Domestic Bitches [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, Mentors, Plans For The Future, Post-Season/Series 10, domestic bitches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:13:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24292663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A meeting with his parole officer (and a brush with internet celebrity) gets Mickey thinking about his future.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Lip Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich, Mickey Milkovich & Larry Seaver
Series: Domestic Bitches [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1753711
Comments: 26
Kudos: 239





	Pride, Planning and Parole Officers

“And how are you fitting in at Old Army?” asked Larry Seaver. “Your manager speaks very highly of you.”

Mickey grunted in response. It was a fucking mall security job, what was he supposed to say? These monthly meetings or “check-ins” were torture; Mickey sitting in Larry’s office while the parole officer spewed buzzwords at him for an hour, constantly asking him how he was feeling. Apparently, “like I want to stab my eyes out” wasn’t an appropriate response.

Larry didn’t believe in meeting over a desk because it “entrenches hierarchies”, whatever the fuck that meant, so Mickey was sitting in the world’s lumpiest arm chair instead, an untouched herbal tea on the coffee table in front of him that Larry had insisted he try. On the wall opposite was a motivational poster that read POTENTIAL, below an image of two hedgehogs snuggled together. What the fuck did hedgehogs have to do with potential, anyway?

“Mr. Milkovich,” Larry said, leaning forward. “I think it’s time we spoke more about your plans for the future. Based on how well you have acclimated at work, we can begin looking for better paying jobs, but I will need you to be open to this process.”

The last time they had discussed Mickey’s plans, Larry had suggested Mickey draw his dreams of the future, if he was having trouble verbalizing them. The session had been cut short when Larry realized that Mickey was simply drawing a series of increasingly pornographic and anatomically ambitious sketches. He hadn’t suggested art therapy again which was a shame; those drawings had been some of Mickey’s finest work and were currently taped to the walls of his and Ian’s bedroom.

Larry clapped his hands together. Before meeting Larry, Mickey hadn’t known that was something people did in real life. Taking Mickey’s silence for agreement, Larry plowed on. “Now, do you want to work security all your life? Erm, not that there’s anything wrong with that of course.”

Mickey shrugged. “Work is work man, whatever pays the bills and doesn’t involve me putting my back out or losing a fucking limb.” Mickey knew the score – he was a felon with minimal legitimate work experience, and he couldn't exactly put pimp or drug dealer on a resume. Old Army's not the worst job he could have; the nerds at the store pretty much worshipped him and he could usually guilt one of the would-be shoplifters to buy him pretzels or frozen yogurt to snack on. His only real complaint was the uniform, which Ian still found hilarious, although he also claimed it made Mickey’s legs look great.

“Right,” Larry said. He paused for a moment before changing tack. “I heard your wedding was beautiful, I was sorry to not be invited.”

_Oh fuck no._ Mickey’s eyebrows flew up. “Are you fucking kidding me? You sold me out to the fucking Bride of Chucky for some Olive Garden!”

To his credit, Larry had the decency to look embarrassed. “Yes, well.” He cleared his throat. “I also heard that you planned the wedding yourself – how did that go?”

“You mean, between the homophobic florist, the even more homophobic father and the useless fiancé who might as well be colorblind for all the help he was with picking out a color scheme?”

Larry grinned. “So, you enjoyed it then?”

Mickey couldn’t deny it, getting to take control like that and bring his vision to life had been pretty fucking fun. At least until Terry burnt down the venue and fucked things up, as always. But what did that have to do with his shitty job prospects?

Larry leaned forward. “Have you ever considered a career in event planning?”

***

Mickey couldn't stop thinking about his meeting with Larry, and it kept running through his mind as he and Lip were grocery shopping together the next day. With one car between the two households, it made sense to go together, and it had quickly become a Saturday morning routine for the two of them.

He could tell that Lip had picked up on his distraction, but thankfully he knew better than to push, and instead kept up a steady monologue about a bike he’d been working on. Mickey let Lip’s chatter wash over him as he idly pulled faces for Freddie, propped up in the child’s seat of the cart. Freddie giggled and Mickey felt a rush of fondness for the little brat. Turns out hanging with a baby isn’t too bad when the kid doesn’t also double as a reminder of the worst day of your life.

“Would you ever consider going back to college?” Mickey cutting Lip off before he got carried away jerking off bike rims or whatever the fuck he was going on about.

Lip was silent for a moment, but when he answered, he sounded sure of himself. “My life as it is right now is about as much as I can handle, man. I have work, and I have my family, and that’s good. I don’t want to throw things off balance by adding anything new into the picture.” He ran a hand through Freddie’s hair. “And I definitely can’t afford to relapse now, with Fred in the picture.”

Mickey could hear the unspoken message there: _I don’t want to be like Frank_.

Was it normal to live in fear of one day becoming your parent? Living in fear _of_ a parent Mickey could understand; it was all he had known until his little coming-out party at the Alibi. But the Gallaghers had a whole different set of hang-ups. Mickey knew that every time Ian took his pills, he was thinking about Monica, and how he was a couple of missed doses away from becoming her. There was nothing Mickey could do to get him to see otherwise either, which was both frustrating and terrifying – after all, it was that same fear that had made Ian give up on them before.

For all the power that Terry still had over Mickey (and which would probably always be there to some extent, as much as he hated to admit it), Mickey knew with certainty that he would never be like him, and there was a relief in that. Hopefully, Ian and Lip would figure that out for themselves eventually.

"Why are you asking about college anyway?" Lip asked when Mickey didn’t respond.

Before Mickey could answer, he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out, assuming it was Ian – he'd worked a late shift the night before and had still been asleep when Mickey left. Instead, he had a bunch of messages from Sandy which wasn’t like her; she didn’t believe in double texting.

**why am I seeing your face all over tiktok???**

**dont forget me just cos your famous bitch**

**people are actually thirsty for your dramatic gay ass**

**we should use this to swing you an upgrade from gallagher**

**not that thats hard**

Attached were a couple of videos. “What the fuck is a TikTok?” Mickey asked Lip, bewildered.

Lip laughed. “You’re such a fucking grandpa,” he said. “Where did you even hear about it?”

Mickey opened one of the videos and held his phone up so they could watch it together. In it, Mickey was standing in the kitchen wearing cut off sweatpants and a tank top, a bowl of cereal held in one hand. He was holding the spoon in the other and gesturing wildly as he ranted, and the video would zoom in at random to his eyebrows and his flailing hands. The whole thing was set to wildly operatic music, and the text over it said: **I just said I didn’t know who Van Halen is…**

“Holy shit,” Lip said, looking at Mickey in awe. “Liam’s a genius.”

***

“Liam Gallagher!”

Mickey burst into the Gallagher house, a laughing Lip hot on his heel. “Get the fuck down here you little shrimp!”

“Don’t you think it’s a bit rich, you calling someone else short?” Lip asked, as he followed Mickey into the kitchen, settling onto a stool with Freddie on his lap. Mickey just flipped him off in response, continuing his pacing in the kitchen until Liam came down the stairs.

“What’s up?” Liam asked, as he made his way over to the fridge, pulling out a jug of orange juice.

“What’s up? There are videos of me all over this fucking Knock-Knock app is what’s up!” Mickey threw himself into a chair, staring daggers at Liam who was calmly sipping his juice at the fridge, indifferent to Mickey’s dramatics.

“This view count is ridiculous,” Lip said, eyes glued to his phone.

"You should be thanking me,” Liam said. “People love these videos and if we keep going, we’ll be able to monetize soon."

Mickey sat up in his seat. "You can make money off this thing? Okay, keep talking kid."

"Well, you're practically an influencer now, and people love to throw money at influencers."

"Who's an influencer?" A half-asleep Ian wandered down the stairs, rubbing at his eyes. Mickey felt a twinge of guilt, he must've woken Ian up with the racket he made coming in.

"Mickey is," Lip said, still scrolling on his phone. "He's also apparently ‘sex on a stick’ and ‘an adorable rage kitten’ according to the comments."

A confused Ian walked over to look at the videos on Lip's phone, and Mickey left them to it as he rounded on Liam once again.

"How much money are we talking?"

"Some people get paid a grand per post."

Mickey grinned. "See, this is why you're my favorite Gallagher. You have vision, kid."

"Hey!" Lip and Ian called out in unison.

Mickey gestured for Liam to join him at the table. "What exactly would I have to do?"

"Well, some influencers do Meet and Greets for fans–"

"Fuck no, I'm not sitting round taking pictures and shaking hands with pathetic losers with no sense of boundaries."

"Also, you hate people," Ian chimed in.

Mickey nodded. “And I hate people.”

"Fine,” Liam said. “Then we make you an Instagram account, and you get paid to advertise stuff."

“What kind of stuff?”

“Usually they send you products and you take pictures of yourself using it and stuff.”

Mickey grimaced “Fuck that, isn’t there a way to make money off this without having to do any actual work?"

Liam shot Mickey a confused look. "Erm...no?"

Mickey sighed. "Guess I’ll stick to chasing after idiotic teenagers instead.”

Ian walked over to stand behind Mickey, placing his hands on Mickey’s tensed shoulders. Mickey relaxed instinctively at the touch. "I thought you liked your job," Ian said.

"Yeah, it's just – Larry got into my head yesterday about how I shouldn't settle and shit. I think he's finally snapped; he thinks I should become a wedding planner." Mickey scoffed, ready for someone to point out how ridiculous that sounded. Instead, Liam was nodding along, and Lip hadn’t even looked up from the phone. Mickey turned his head to look back at Ian, who would surely understand how absurd this all was.

“That actually makes a lot of sense,” Ian said slowly, as though he was picturing it as he spoke.

“How do you become a wedding planner anyway?” Liam asked.

“You’re basically starting your own business, so if you want to go legit you need to get a business license and stuff. I-” Mickey rubbed at his eyebrow awkwardly. “I learnt a bit about that from a couple of business classes I did in the joint, after I got my GED.”

He heard Ian take a sharp breath behind him. “I didn’t know you had your GED,” Ian said, voice quiet. “How did I not know that?”

Mickey's hand automatically begins to rub at his chest, over his tattoo. He had considered getting rid of it in Mexico but figured it was the cowardly route, and he was done feeling like a bitch when it came to Ian Gallagher. Getting rid of the tattoo wouldn't make Ian any less branded on his skin, and it wouldn't remove the feeling of desperate loneliness that had led to it in the first place. So, he’d kept it, and now, seeing the way Ian would trace it late at night as they lay together in bed, he couldn’t regret that decision.

Still, by unspoken agreement Ian and Mickey didn’t talk about his first stint in the slammer. The one time Mickey had tried to bring it up in any meaningful way, that night at the Mexico border, Ian had made it pretty clear he wasn’t comfortable talking about it. It had stung at first – Mickey had been the one abandoned after all and Ian’s words about it being hard for _him_ had taunted Mickey those first few weeks across the border – but Mickey soon realized that he was only hurting himself by dwelling on it. In Mickey’s experience, happiness was fleeting, and he’d learned to grab it when he could and not question it. He still had moments where it felt like he was just waiting for the other shoe to drop but those moments were few and far between since the wedding, and the comforting weight of the rings on his left ring finger definitely helped.

Mickey was brought back to the present by Ian squeezing his shoulder. He reached up to hold onto Ian’s hand, keeping it pressed there. Taking his cue, Ian changed the subject and Mickey relaxed back into his seat. For now, he was happy to stay focused on the present.

***

“Still can’t believe your ugly mug is an internet celebrity,” Ian said, between bites of Schezwan noodles.

“You’re just jealous that I’ve got more fans than Gay Jesus,” Mickey retorted, handing Ian a napkin. “Clean your fucking face, you animal.”

“They prefer to be called disciples, actually,” Ian grinned, wiping his mouth.

Mickey and Ian were having one of their semi-regular lunch dates at the mall (Ian claimed meeting up during a lunch break didn’t count as a proper date but Mickey disagreed). A couple of Mickey’s co-workers were seated at a table nearby, shamelessly staring at the couple. The sad part was, Mickey knew they thought they were being subtle. When Mickey had first started the job, he would have lunch by himself if Ian couldn’t make it, but he’d made the mistake of agreeing to eat with them when he couldn’t handle their whining any longer. It was an exhausting experience; they were only a couple years younger than him but made him feel old, and he couldn’t relate to any of their problems. They were also fascinated by the idea that he had a husband.

“So,” Mickey said, toying with the straw from his soda, “Larry stopped by earlier.”

Ian set his fork down but didn’t say anything, so Mickey continued.

“He gave me a "brochure" on business classes at Malcolm X; he thinks I should look into enrolling in August.”

Ian smiled. “I like Larry.”

“That’s just ’cos you're almost as big of a pussy as he is,” Mickey said, rolling his eyes. In truth, he knew Ian was grateful to Larry for helping him get a job as a 911 operator. There was no way for Ian to get back into being an EMT again with an arson conviction – outside of a scam led by a crooked PO anyway – but this new job meant he could still exercise his hero complex.

Ian’s expression turned serious. He leaned across the table to take Mickey’s hand. “You know I’m proud of you right?”

"For what, not telling Larry where he could shove his pansy ass brochure."

Ian chuckled. "That too, but I meant getting your GED. Thinking about your future. Even when you were saying you were fucked for life, I knew there was so much more you were capable of.”

Mickey felt overwhelmed by the sincerity with which Ian was looking at him. He wanted to make a joke, to deflect, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak.

“And Larry’s right,” Ian continued. “I mean you planned the most kick ass gay wedding the South Side has ever seen, _and_ somehow managed to get a discount on the Chiavari chairs despite destroying the merchandise."

Mickey smiled weakly. "Brooks and I had an understanding."

"And honestly, you were made to run your own business, I still remember your tiny ass bossing your giant cousins around when you were a teenager. I think you should go for it."

Mickey sighed. “I don’t know man, August is a while away. I don’t think I’ve ever made plans that far in advance in my life.” Planning for the future was the kind of luxury that wasn’t afforded to people growing up in the Milkovich house.

“Well, maybe that should change,” Ian said. “For instance, I think if we start saving, we can probably swing a proper honeymoon over the winter break. Go somewhere sunny where you can work on your farmer’s tan.”

"Yeah?" Mickey bit his bottom lip. "Where would we go?"

Ian squeezed Mickey's hand. "I was thinking the beach."

**Author's Note:**

> I absolutely loved Groomzilla!Mickey and now can't picture any other career for him. There's less of a focus on the Lip-Mickey friendship this time, but I wanted to give Larry a chance to redeem himself.


End file.
